


between the shadow and the soul

by loveroflou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OT5 Friendship, Panic Attacks, Post-Break Up, harry wears a skirt and a collar for one second, louis cries the whole time, they love each other a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveroflou/pseuds/loveroflou
Summary: There are two dirty mugs of tea on the bedside table on Louis’ side of the bed. Harry doesn’t have the energy to pretend his eyes don’t well up, stinging by the corners as he traces the mouth of one with the tip of his pointer finger.He takes another deep, shaky inhale of vanilla and tea, and when he feels the worn-out fabric start to dampen against his face Harry screams.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73





	between the shadow and the soul

**Author's Note:**

> guess who starts their finals on friday lmaooo anyway hello i'm failing uni here's an angsty thing that's actually not sad at all enjoy
> 
> title is from my best friend's favourite poem i forgot what it was called and frankly it has nothing to do with the story but it was the first thing in my notes and it sounds cool enough
> 
> oh and this is not beta-d all mistakes are mine <3 i need to study

The jumper smells like tea and vanilla, and Harry plucks it off the floor with trembling hands. It’s warm against his face when he tucks his nose between its folds, taking a deep breath.

Louis doesn’t answer his phone when Harry tries to call again, and Harry feels the frantic energy that possessed him only moments ago bleed through his fingertips and a tired sigh, and he doesn’t throw the phone at the wall.

There are two dirty mugs of tea on the bedside table on Louis’ side of the bed. Harry doesn’t have the energy to pretend his eyes don’t well up, stinging by the corners as he traces the mouth of one with the tip of his pointer finger.

He takes another deep, shaky inhale of vanilla and tea, and when he feels the worn-out fabric start to dampen against his face Harry screams.

He doesn’t tell his mum. He doesn’t tell Gemma or Zayn either, and when Gemma texts him after he misses their weekly facetime call he tells her he’s busy and will call back, making up some work event that he says he needs to prepare for.

The house is quiet, as are Harry’s movements. He remembers to eat at some point a day or two, maybe three later, and musters up enough energy to shower after eight.

Louis doesn’t call. Not that Harry expected him to, but he’d hoped. He still calls Harry baby, though, and he pets his hair and cuddles him tight against his chest when Harry’s sleeping.

He’s not there when Harry wakes up, and his side of the bed is only warm because Harry’s stays cold.

Harry thinks it’s maybe cruel, that Louis isn’t there but he can still see him with every blink. There’s an old frame on the white table beside Harry’s side of the bed, and it’s placed face-down. The other picture frames pressed to the walls are still up. Harry doesn’t look at them.

Zayn comes over when it’s been two weeks, and Harry doesn’t have the energy to regret giving him a copy of the house key. He presses his face to Zayn’s shoulder and cries. His voice is small when he asks about Louis, and Zayn only pets his hair until he falls asleep curled up in his lap.

The note taped to the fridge doesn’t have heart doodles in the margins, and the writing is neat and not Louis’. Harry doesn’t read it.

He finds a pink paper between the couch cushions when he sits to eat – dinner, maybe, he’s not sure what the time is. He’s not eaten since he woke up, though, so maybe breakfast – and this one he does read. His fingers are shaking when he dials Zayn’s number, and he could swear it was Zayn who answered but then Louis’ whispering soothing nonsense into his ear as Harry tries to breathe.

“It’s okay, baby,” he says, and Harry wants to crawl into the phone and hide between its ridges or maybe in Louis’ arms. The fuzziness in his head ebbs away slowly, so slowly, and when he can make out words again Louis’ saying, “Take a deep breath for me, yeah? You’re doing so well, darling. It’s okay.”

If Harry hadn’t known him his whole life he thinks he might not be able to tell Louis’ crying too.

His voice stays gentle, soft in a way Harry knows it only gets when Louis is talking to him. He breathes deeply in time with Harry, murmuring gentle little nothings every so often until Harry’s breathing has evened out and the tear tracks on his face are dry, eyelashes clumped with salty dew.

“ _I miss you,_ ” he wants to say. He can feel the words at the tip of his tongue, can feel all the other words he wants to say too clumsily clumping up in his throat. He listens to Louis’ soft breathing, and Louis seems to be listening to his too until there’s a noise that startles him into a gasp.

“Louis!” Harry hears, low and muffled as the person – Zayn, probably – knocks again, and he pushes the phone harder against his ear like if he presses hard enough Louis won’t go. “Open the door!”

When Harry blinks the world gets a little blurry, and Louis must hesitate because there’s more knocking. Half an hour after the line goes dead Harry’s still rooted in his spot on the couch wondering if the kiss Louis pressed to the speaker before ending the call was simply out of habit or something more.

He goes to work the next day, and when he gets back home he showers before calling Gemma.

“You look like shit,” she says instead of a hello, but her eyes are sad. Harry gives her a small smile.

“I know,” he says slowly, nodding. He asks what she’s been up to, and he knows she knows when she doesn’t bring Lottie up once. She doesn’t ask about Louis, either.

It’s almost nice, allowing himself to drown under the simple, happy stories of her week. Harry’s smile is a little lighter when Gemma tells him she can come over in two days for a movie night and ice cream, and there’s still a seedling of – _something_ , or maybe it’s nothing, in his chest that wants him to sit in a corner away from everyone and cry, but he forces himself to agree.

He still cries himself to sleep, but he remembers to have breakfast before work the next day, and it’s maybe progress.

His plans to clean up the house and himself after work fall through, he’s so tired. He drags himself to his bedroom and falls on the too-big bed, cuddling up on Louis’ side and pulling the blankets up to his chin. The jumper pushed beside the pillow no longer smells like home, and Harry lets the sobs shake his shoulders and lips until they can’t anymore.

He thumbs through pictures and mostly-blurry videos of Louis, some of him alone and some with Harry pressed against his side or his chest or sat happily in his lap. The glow of the phone is too harsh against his face in the darkness of the night and it hurts his eyes, but he doesn’t turn it down.

Harry falls asleep not wanting to wake up.

Gemma is waiting for him on the couch when he steps through the front door after his evening shift. She hugs him tight enough that when they pull apart Harry needs to touch the corners of his eyes with the tips of his fingers to check if he’s crying. He pats at his dry face as she turns around to retrieve the ice cream from the freezer, and it’s only when he kneels down to untie the laces of his blood red Converse that he notices that the house has been cleaned up.

They watch The Notebook and eat ice cream straight from the tub, and by the time Gemma puts on a Disney movie Harry’s almost asleep on her shoulder. She kisses the top of his head, gentle fingers playing with the tips of his long hair.

“Mum said if you don’t call or go visit her soon she’s gonna come over herself,” she whispers over the noise of the TV, and Harry hums.

His voice is small, and he’s sleepy enough that when he tells himself it’s because he’s tired he lets himself believe it. “Does she know?”

“Yeah,” Gemma says after the silence stretches. “She knows.”

Harry sleeps for eleven hours when he comes back from his mum’s, but he still wakes up tired. He takes a hot bath, fills the tub with bubbles, throws in a pink bath bomb and lets himself soak until his fingers are pruney. He makes quick work of shaving before he stands up and rinses, going extra careful by his ankles and the backs of his thighs so as not to cut himself.

The sweater Harry picks out is pink and too big on him, falling to the mids of his thighs when he pulls it on. His panties are soft against his freshly shaved skin, and the socks he slips on are rainbow coloured and make him feel little and giddy in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. He braids his hair into tiny twin braids, and it is still not long enough to be plaited properly without tufts of stray hairs poking out, but it makes him feel good so Harry does it anyway.

His nails come out messy when he paints them, and Harry forces himself not to cry or call Louis to scream something stupid, something along the lines of “ _You’d always paint my nails for me and now you’re gone and the purple polish spilled all over my fingers and I miss you. I miss you so bad it’s hard to breathe and I’m so fucking sorry please come home._ ”

He clasps the black collar Louis got him around his neck, and it takes a moment before he calms down enough to put his phone down and blink the tears away before they can fall past his cheeks to collect at his jaw. Harry picks out a soft, nude tone of lipstick next, and this he manages to apply correctly, eyebrows pulled in a tiny quirk as he looks into the mirror.

The weight of his collar is familiar and grounding around his neck, and when Harry falls asleep he forgets to take it off, too used to Louis slipping it off his neck when he’s asleep. Louis plays with his hair in his sleep, and Harry purrs contentedly, pushing closer to Louis’ hand.

There are tears falling down his face and soaking through the princess pink of his pillow when he wakes up.

It’s past midnight when Louis calls. Harry startles at the soft noise of his ringtone, rubbing tiredly at his eyes and breaking his staring match with the ceiling.

“Hello?” he asks timidly, pushing the phone against his ear. His ribs are enclosing tightly around his stumbling heart.

Louis whimpers. “Harry.”

He’s drunk, Harry can tell immediately. “Louis,” he says back, voice falling gentle.

“Harry,” Louis says again before sniffling. He must tuck his face into his palm, or maybe press his cheek over his knee, because when he says, “I miss you,” his voice comes out muffled.

Harry blinks. “I know,” he breathes quietly, even though he didn’t. His chest aches. “I miss you too, honey.”

“I can’t sleep,” he says after a long silence that has Harry pulling the phone away from his face to check if the call is still connected. “You’re not here and I can’t sleep without you. Did y’know that?”

The corners of Harry’s lips pull up in a small, sad smile. “Yeah, Lou. I know,” he repeats.

“I just – just wanna hold you and cuddle you and kiss you and _sleep_ ,” Louis says, and his words are whiny and mumbled, sticking together messily with the alcohol. Harry hears him take another sip of whatever is clutched tightly in his hand and blinks rapidly so he won’t cry. “Can _you_ sleep?” he asks, tone turning accusing in a way Harry knows means nothing more than that Louis is just as tired as he is, maybe more.

“No, baby,” he whispers, hearing the fight drain out of Louis’ voice with an ‘oh’.

“Oh,” Louis says again. “You can’t sleep?”

Harry shakes his head. “You’re not here to hold and cuddle and kiss me, how can I sleep?” He thinks it might’ve come out angry a couple of weeks ago, but now his voice is just sad.

Louis’ quiet for the time it takes Harry to cuddle under the blankets and pull Louis’ jumper to his chest. “Can – will you stay on the line until I sleep?” is what he finally says, voice small like he’s expecting Harry to scold him.

When Harry agrees, there’s the distant thought in his head that they’ve probably stumbled fifteen steps back and that Zayn is going to kill both of them. When Harry wakes up, he isn’t crying and Louis’ breaths are soft and even on the other side of the line.

The boys invite themselves over to Harry’s when it’s been a little longer than three months, maybe four, and when Harry opens the door to greet them there’s a scowl on his face.

Niall laughs, pushing past him with a bag of snacks in his hands. “What’s wrong, princess?”

“Not a princess,” Harry huffs. Niall raises his eyebrows. “Not _your_ princess,” he corrects, rolling his eyes. “And I didn’t say you could come over.”

He melts into it when Niall hugs him anyway, pressing his nose into his neck. “Missed you.”

“You’ve been holding up okay?” Niall whispers softly, tightening his arms around Harry when he nods. “You can kick us out anytime,” he says, pulling back, and his tone is teasing but Harry knows he’s serious.

Louis is stiff as a board where he’s sitting on the loveseat, and Harry’s first instinct is to go over and plop into his lap and maybe try to soothe him, but he catches himself, just barely. He gives him an awkward wave and a small smile instead, and Louis nods back with a smile of his own.

“Princess,” Zayn says, and Harry turns to him, eyes wide like he’s been caught doing something wrong. He pats his lap. “C’mere.”

Harry does, looking back at Louis once before turning around and climbing into Zayn’s lap, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. He reaches forward and pulls the cigarette from between Zayn’s lips before he can light it up, smiling when Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Comfortable?” he asks softly, pulling Harry flush against his chest. He tugs Harry’s oversized shirt down so his panties are hidden again. “Not too cold?”

Harry nods, resting his head against Zayn’s collarbone and turning around so he’s facing the TV. “Socks keep me warm.”

Liam comes in ten minutes into the movie, and he hands Harry a bottle of strawberry milk and the rest of the boys a beer each before settling on Zayn’s side quietly. Harry’s mostly focused on that Louis’ not ten feet away from him for the first time in months, and his eyes keep flicking from the screen to watch Louis’ face.

Until Louis turns around to watch him too.

Harry gasps, turning around to push his face against Zayn’s neck, his cheeks heating up.

Zayn shushes him softly, running a hand through his hair, fingertips pressing over the choker around his neck. “’S okay. He’s not looking anymore.” He shakes his head, leaning in to whisper softly into Harry’s ear. When he says, “You two are really gonna act like you’re just crushing on each other, now? You’ve dated him for four years, babe, you can look at each other,” he sounds amused.

Harry pouts. “Shut up.”

He feels Zayn’s smile against the top of his head when Zayn kisses his hair. “You’re doing well,” he promises, and Harry doesn’t think so, doesn’t tell him he talked himself into a panic attack over the still upside down picture frame in his bedroom just last night, but he nods anyway.

They talk nonsense over too many bags of crisps, and Harry doesn’t hear most of it but Zayn’s pressed to his side and Niall’s laughter is comforting, and when Harry’s bottle of milk is empty Liam hands him another one, and Louis is _there_ , he’s not Harry’s but he’s there and it’s okay.

He’s yawning against Zayn’s tan skin by the time the third movie’s credits are rolling, smacking his lips and closing his eyes when Zayn scratches softly at his scalp.

“Didn’t sleep well last night? It’s still early.”

“ _Didn’t sleep at all,_ ” Harry wants to say, but he only nods.

Zayn hums. “Y’wanna go to your room and change?” he asks softly. “You’ll get cold if you sleep with no pants on.”

It startles Harry from the bubble he’d wrapped himself up in, and he nods again, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. He can feel Louis’ eyes at the back of his head as he stumbles to his bedroom and closes the door, and he wonders if they’re thinking the same thing.

He’d fall asleep in Louis’ lap and Louis would continue to pet his hair slowly, happy and unbothered as Harry nuzzles against his neck and purrs at the touch, and when Louis’ tired enough to sleep he’d carry him up and help him brush his teeth before changing him into something comfortable and pulling him against his chest to sleep. Harry shakes his head.

When he goes back to the living room, the loveseat is empty. “Where’s Lou? And Zayn and Liam,” he asks quietly, looking around, and Niall smiles softly at him.

“Went out for a smoke. Come cuddle?” he says, leaning back from where he’s lying on the couch to make space for Harry.

“Is he okay?” Harry asks quietly when he’s pressed to Niall’s side, Niall tangling their legs together and pulling Harry closer so he wouldn’t fall.

“Yeah, baby,” he promises. Before Harry can make himself too sad or ask something else, Niall says, “You wanna come out for breakfast with me tomorrow? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

Harry nods, yawning into the back of his hand. “Where?”

“I’ll come pick you up. Sleep, now.”

He wakes up to Louis tugging the blankets under his chin and pressing a kiss to his forehead, and he’s only awake enough to mumble a soft _love you_ before falling asleep again.

When he sees Louis again it’s two weeks later, at Zayn and Liam’s flat this time, and Harry’s doing better. He slept more nights the past days than he didn’t. He’s doing better.

Louis isn’t, though.

He’s screaming at Zayn when Harry and Niall walk in, and Zayn is screaming right back. He’s always so calm until the last straw, and Liam is standing between him and Louis looking as panicked as Harry suddenly feels.

“I’m not letting you do this to yourself,” Zayn says, and his tone is final.

“You don’t fucking get it, Zayn! What the fuck?”

Niall pushes Harry behind him, taking his hand in his and squeezing.

“Niall,” Harry says quietly as Liam tries to say something only to be cut off by Louis. “Niall, let me–”

“No.”

“I can help,” Harry says seriously, and Niall turns to him. “He’s going to – you _know_ this won’t end well. Let me help.”

Niall squeezes his hand again before letting go and nodding. “Okay.”

“Lou,” he says immediately, pushing himself in place of Liam and taking Louis’ face in his hands. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here.”

Louis shakes his head, pushing at Harry’s hands before falling against his chest and grasping at the back of his shirt instead, his breathing shallow from where he presses his nose to Harry’s neck.

“Honey,” Harry whispers. “You need to breathe. Can you feel my breathing? Breathe with me, Lou.”

Harry pulls them down so they’re on the floor, Louis still pressed against his chest. He thinks the boys left to the other room, but he isn’t quite sure. “Baby, c’mon,” he says softly, wiping at Louis’ damp cheeks as his breathing evens out slowly. “Y’wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

He’s expecting Louis to shake his head and stand up, but he doesn’t. He pushes closer to Harry and tucks his face against his neck again, instead. “I miss you,” he confesses, voice quiet.

Harry buries his nose against the crown of Louis’ head. “I miss you,” he repeats, a confession of his own.

They don’t talk then, but they do eventually. It starts with shy, clumsy messages about little nothings that happen throughout their days. It’s – weird, in a way, Harry thinks, but it’s nice. He has to stop himself from sending _I love you_ ’s, but he keeps Louis’ contact name saved with only a blue heart.

It reminds him of when he would stay up till the early hours of the morning texting Louis when he first got his phone at sixteen, and the thought fills his chest with something warm like honey.

He thinks they maybe just missed each other.

When they go out for dinner two weeks later, Harry wears a chalk black skirt and the blouse he knows is Louis’ favourite, and they don’t hold hands over the table or kiss when Louis drives him home, but it’s a date still, Harry knows.

He apologises to Louis on a Wednesday when he’s made plans with Zayn, and before Louis can overthink anything at all Harry’s calling him.

“I’m going out with Zayn tonight,” Harry says instead of a hello. “We can go tomorrow? If you’re free.”

So they make plans for the next day, and Zayn teases him until the red on his cheeks can’t get any darker and Harry almost regrets going out to see him.

It’s still gentle, though, fragile almost. Harry can feel how careful both of them are with their words, the way they’re handling this like it’s something new like they haven’t been in love since forever. It’s okay, though. Good, even.

Baby steps, Zayn had said.

Harry notices how they’re working on their communication, too, and realises how badly they’ve been doing that. He knows there was a point where they _did_ communicate, they wouldn’t have lasted four years if they didn’t, and he makes sure he tells Louis when he’s sad or what he’s angry about or even when he’s just too tired to talk.

Louis’ awkwardness about sharing his feelings is almost endearing, Harry forgot how shy he gets trying to express an emotion. He tries, though, hard enough that Harry wants to press him to the floor and kiss all over his face, but he settles for pressing him to his chest in a cuddle instead.

The next time the boys meet up at Harry’s house, the picture frame in his room is the right side up. Louis makes sure Harry’s cuddled in his lap, and he stares daggers at Zayn the whole time instead of watching the movie. Harry doesn’t have to look at him to know Zayn looks just as amused as Harry feels.

When they kiss, it’s only a soft, careful press of their lips together from where they’re huddled against the front door of Harry’s house after a date, and it tastes like hope.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in one sitting because who understands chemistry anyway right
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://loveroflou.tumblr.com) and here's a half-assed [tumblr post](https://loveroflou.tumblr.com/post/641317477792563200/between-the-shadow-and-the-soul-37k-there-are) if you want


End file.
